urban refugee

I'm not sure about blogging.

I told someone to go fuck themselves today, I won't bore you with the details, but it didn't give me the usual frisson of rebel yell that it used to. Am I losing my Edge?

I'm not sure about love anymore.

I had a realization on the walk from the card shop [StEvEn works in a Greeting Card shop in Downtown Smalltown] that, although getting away from all the shit in the city has been incredibly good for my general state of mind and body, I am starting to fucking die inside. Which probably isn't very good for my state of mind and body.

I'm not sure about romance either, I mean where does it get you?

The Latest Piece (photo forthcoming) Rudolphs Revenge, is actually going well. I haven't welded in a while and had some prominent burns on my shins and thighs that C------a has commented on. I told her it was self mutilation because I knew it would make me seem interesting but she became overly concerned and gave me the number of her sensei. So now I am going to go to Jujitsu class on wednesday. fucking hell.

French Kissed a Lady

Everyone knows that StEvEn has a heart of gold, nobody told me that it was so goddamn heavy to carry around. Instead, I was told that Clarissa had wide eyes and a new way of making the old work, she makes little pictures out of hair and cast iron, god love her. After a few too many we discovered ourselves dishevelled in arms. Have you seen anything so ridiculous as a post modern bisexual trying to get his heart on with a Steam Punk in flourescent corset and high heels? Too many people took too many pictures, I spent all yesterday afternoon begging people to censor their goddamn facebook pages. What would Mother say? What would Stephen Deadly Robot Harper say? She is calling and I am calling back. I can't get her out of my hair.

the irish tree

No the End isn't Near, its just the Fall and I'm feelin it. Despite all efforts, my latest project has gone up in smoke, literally. I thought if I could get the deaths head to just smolder a little, but it wouldn't stay parallel (took me six tries to spell that right, jesus!) to the Santa sleigh. Then I went outside for a little "encouragement" and came back in to find the whole thing had conflagerated. I'm not even going to try to spell that right. So I got drunk and read the entire New Yorker, even the whats ons which Really Depressed me, (WOT AM I DOING IN THIS PLACE WHY CAN'T I LIVE IN A CITY, WHERE DID I LEAVE MY LIGHTER!) which made me feel comforted, and so now i am like an Irish tree, Pressed by Wind, left to grow, in tiny tiny tiny increments, reaching out, as up as I can.